


but you've got the love

by irnan



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Hypothermia, Multi, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 12:21:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5626444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irnan/pseuds/irnan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Well," said Sam a week or so later, struggling to keep a straight face, "I guess falling off a cliff in the middle of January into an icy river is one way to catch a boyfriend. And a girlfriend."</p>
<p>"You're just jealous," Steve said contentedly.</p>
<p>"Of you three? No," said Sam, very very firmly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	but you've got the love

 

Some days it really felt like the whole universe was out to get him. And no wonder, his Ma would have said, if you’re going around looking like a wet weekend… you get what you go looking for, sunshine boy.

Look, Ma, Steve thought as the cliff-edge gave way under his feet, I love you, but that ain’t really helping.

Some explosion must have gone off in the tunnels under the facility, setting off the landslide in turn. The sky was dully grey above him, heavy clouds threatening more snow, the light as dim and gloomy as on the day Bucky had fallen from the train. Pine trees shook and rocks groaned and tumbled about him – so did three Hydra agents, good fucking riddance. Steve got a faceful of soil snatching at tree roots on his way down, cursing to himself in the privacy of his own head – half the cliff was falling into the river. It wasn’t too far a drop, thank god, but the water was deep and fast flowing and Steve had done enough involuntary diving into icy waters, really he had, for this life and the next one. Or should that be for his last life and this present one? He dug the toes of his boots into the cliff side, struggling to steady himself; soil and rocks and small stones were cascading down the slope to either side of the tree whose roots he was mostly lodged in, and if too much of it went down the chances were the tree would fall as well. Almost, Steve thought, come on – I just need – a foothold to push himself up, to scramble over the edge –

Another tremor shook the cliff; distantly he heard someone yelling; then the tree came away from the cliff and he – where was Sam? At HQ, because Steve was a fucking idiot who’d been sure this would be a simple in and out job –

He hit the water with a vicious impact that probably broke a rib or six; the cold sunk into his bones – then the lights went out.

+++

His lungs were on fire, and there was sandpaper in this throat, ripping it to shreds.

“Get – I can’t –”

“It’s all right –”

“Steve? Steve?”

“Up the top –”

“Yeah. We can make it.”

“Steve? Hang in there, you dumbass…”

+++

He wasn’t supposed to be this warm. Dying wasn’t warm – it was cold and lonely and desperate. The glass front of the plane had caved in, and the incoming burst of water had flung him against the floor – his head ached where – his head didn’t ache – the plane had tilted up and he’d tried to climb but – there was nothing to hold, the cliff had kept on crumbling – but there weren’t any cliffs in the plane, or tree roots…

Light. Real light, gold and flickering. He was staring at a fire: his head ached because it was so damn bright and he was looking right at it. Right. Steve closed his eyes, seeing red shapes flicker behind his eyelids. He was warm – so very warm, head to toe, warmer than he’d been in years, a line of fire all pressed up against his back, and something soft was – something soft and warm and heavy, pressed against him, tucked into his arms, against his chest.

It was Natasha, and she was naked. Probably he should have realised that sooner. Distantly he thought, I’ve died, I’m allowed to be confused… and it wasn’t as if he’d ever touched another human being this much while naked, after all. It wasn’t as if he’d ever touched another human being this much, ever. Half the linen closet of a giant hotel complex was piled on top of them – Steve wasn’t just warm, he was hot, his skin and Nat’s sticking together with sweat.

His and Bucky’s too. He shifted, quicker than he meant, and Bucky shushed him, pulled him close. “Easy. We’ve got you.”

“Yes,” said Steve. “I –”

“Stop talking,” Bucky said. “Here.” He produced a bottle of water from somewhere behind him; awkwardly Steve gulped at it, and most ran down his chin onto his shoulder, into Nat’s hair. But it soothed his aching throat and mouth, and he licked his lips and tried again.

“Where?”

“No idea really,” said Bucky. “Someone’s hunting cabin. We’ve appropriated it. Sam’s got our coordinates but that snowstorm started up so we’re stuck for a few hours yet. The river – you got swept pretty far downstream.”

“Sorry,” said Steve. “You don’t –” He shifted; this couldn’t exactly be comfortable for either of them, pressed up against him naked… and Steve himself wasn’t exactly – didn’t really – this wasn’t –

But he was so warm, and it felt good to be touched, and held; better than he had ever suspected. Probably it was because of the lingering hypothermia.

“I’m OK,” he tried again, but Bucky laughed at him.

“Go back to sleep, OK? Just go back to sleep.”

+++

No nightmares this time. The fire was dying down; they had shifted about in their sleep, so that Steve was tucked into the curve of Bucky’s arm, and Natasha was lying across half his chest. As far as he could tell, they were both fast asleep. And everyone was still naked.

The rattling of the wind against the cabin windows came to him as if in a fever dream; he didn’t even know what the place looked like. Now he was warm and rested, he realised he was sore all over, an ache that felt like it was permanently attached to his bones; as long as he didn’t move, it was all right. It wasn’t like he wanted to move… the dim firelight, the silence, Bucky’s steady breathing, the way Natasha’s hair spilled across Steve’s chest… he could sleep another seventy years away like this, probably, and be perfectly happy.             

Steve sighed. What a mess, he thought. Lying here like this with them was far, far too comfortable… He needed to use the bathroom – he needed to get out of this damn cocoon of blankets and remember that – that this wasn’t his to have. This was – it had taken them all so long, and had been so difficult sometimes; the days when Steve had been afraid he might lose both their friendship over one thing or another were not exactly in the very distant past. And Bucky and Nat loved each other; they had loved each other for longer than either of them had known him, when you counted it out, in spite of sundry memory wipes and bitterness and both of them being too afraid to be together and too stubborn not to be – Clint’s words, those. Steve had no right to ask anything of either of them, not after everything they had been through, and certainly not after everything they had already done for him, over the years.

And they loved him, Steve would never doubt that. It was just that he was selfish, and spent too much time with them, and the idea of going out and meeting someone new and learning about them from scratch sounded like a chore more than a pleasure. People were just not that interesting, really. Besides, his priorities were – well two of them were asleep on top of him right now in a blanket cocoon in someone’s hunting cabin in snowy Montana – but mostly they were kinda fucked up. Every time he thought he had them straight, something came along and upset everything…

It was no good: he was drifting off again. How long before Sam reached them? It wouldn’t do for him to find them like this, he’d think – but he wouldn’t. He was Sam; he wouldn’t snigger or gossip. Sometimes Steve forgot he had people he trusted at his back again… And on top of him, at the moment. He grinned to himself.

It would have to be enough. It _was_ enough. Steve gathered Nat close and kissed the top of her head, sighing; then, his face tucked into Bucky’s shoulder, he slept again.

+++

The third time he woke, Nat was gone.

“Went for food,” Bucky said, snuggling, cat-like, into the blankets, apparently having abandoned any plans to get up ever again. “Weak, I call it.”

Steve snorted. “To her face?”

“We nearly had a cushion fight but then you started snoring,” said Bucky.

Steve started laughing.

“Is that Steve?” Nat called from the other room. “We’ve got tinned… everything… and some really terrible-looking coffee, I’m gonna put it on.”

“Thank you!” Steve sang out.

“How come none of your manners ever rubbed off?” she wondered.

“I know too much about him to be impressed by anything he does,” said Bucky.

That was probably true.

“Hey,” said Steve. “Did I say thank you?”

“Did you have to?” said Bucky, looking faintly puzzled. “Of course, you’re welcome.” They were lying side by side, their shoulders touching, the way they had used to lie on rooftops as boys and look up at the stars, if there were any to be seen… when Steve turned his head to look at Bucky their faces were very close. He could see all the laugh-lines, and the grey hairs at his temples, and his stubble: Bucky had always been able to grow a beard more or less from one day to the next. “Sometimes I think you like nearly drowning.”

Steve made a noise at that which even he couldn’t define; he had dreamt of falling into water, over and over and over, until finally strong hands took hold of him and dragged him out… but Bucky smiled.

“What the hell,” he said, sounding fond. Then cool metal fingertips touched Steve’s face, and –

Jesus Mary and Joseph. Bucky’s lips were chapped, but they were full and warm and talented; the metal fingers tilted Steve’s head just so, and the hot mouth turned him inside out; he shivered with surprise for a few seconds – delicious seconds, as his perfect memory would later inform him – and Bucky took advantage of him shamelessly, coaxing him into a clumsy, half-involuntary response.

“Nat was right,” he murmured against Steve’s lips, the wide mobile mouth stretching into a smile. “You do need practice… I volunteer, Captain. It’s a dirty job, but someone’s gotta do it.”

Nat. Natasha. Her name sparked something in Steve – stunned silence went up in a flame of panic, and he jerked away – no easy feat, the only place to go was through the damn floor – suddenly the blankets were half off him and the chill air set him shivering. We need to light the fire again, he thought, and part of him decided to say just that and then go back sweet and easy into Bucky’s arms, but that was the sensible part, and Steve was very, very practiced at ignoring it.

What he said instead was, “The _hell_!” Bucky opened his mouth. Steve couldn’t let him – didn’t want to hear – but he didn’t know what he did want to hear either. “Nat is _right there_ ,” he hissed instead, falling back on – on he didn’t know what.

It was a mistake, either way. Instantly Bucky’s face darkened – and after everything Steve still knew, subconsciously at least, exactly which buttons to press to send him into a black rage – “You think I’d do that?” he said. “You think I’d do that to either of you? To the two people I love most in the world? Quit measuring everyone by your own –”

“ _Fuck_ you,” Steve exploded; Buck meant that pretty blonde in London of course – Lorraine? Lorraine – “Fuck you, I don’t know what the _fuck_ you think you’re fucking _doing_ –”

“Clearly neither do I,” said Bucky, “you fucking asshole, how come seventy years later your first reaction to fucking anything is still to get fucking mad about it?”

“That ain’t true,” said Steve, so furious his accent unravelled, “how fucking dare you –”

“Uh,” said Natasha. “Coffee, anyone?”

She was standing over them wrapped in a dark green blanket and not much else. Now he was sitting up Steve could see that their uniforms were hung over a makeshift clothes line in the opposite corner of the room, looking damp and uncomfortable. Her hair fell over her shoulders in frizzy, unbrushed waves, and she was staring at them both exasperatedly. “We’re gonna be stuck here for a few hours yet, gentlemen, can we please try and get along? There’s only one fireplace.”

“It’s _fine_ ,” said Bucky, and god, they must seem a pair of idiots, sitting naked in a pile of blankets and arguing with each other in vicious whispers. Steve couldn’t even look at him. He thought that under any other circumstances he would have found it absurd and funny, but his stomach was hollow and his shoulders were shaking and everything was bright and jagged-edged with a strange kind of –

He wasn’t upset, he realised suddenly. He was afraid, pure and simple. And when Steve got afraid, these days, he mostly got angry, to hide it… it wasn’t like there was anyone left who he could –

There he went again – forgetting – forgetting that Bucky had come back. Forgetting that Natasha and Sam were just as much a part of him, in their own different ways…

Bucky had _kissed him_. What did Steve think he was doing, throwing a joy like that away? Was he waiting for another goddamned war to come between them? Christ, he was a fool. Bucky had kissed him with Natasha in the next room and teased him about - about Steve having kissed Nat before, god, would she - even if she didn't want him herself maybe she wouldn't mind if -

He was pathetic. He forced himself not to care: maybe - maybe being ridiculous was the price you paid. And Steve knew Bucky too well to think that he would ever get another chance, not after the way he'd reacted.

“He kissed me,” he said to Nat, before he lost the moment again and got too afraid to ever say it. Please – please…

There was a short silence. Natasha sighed. “I told you he’d freak out,” she said chidingly to Bucky; then she stepped around the tangled pile of blankets and dropped into Steve’s lap, winding her arms around his neck; that green thing she had wound around her was probably the softest one of the lot, and suddenly Steve suspected her of a variety of ulterior motives: the green brought out her eyes and hair beautifully, and she was smiling as she leaned up to brush their noses together. “Steve –” Suddenly her look darkened. “I really thought we might have lost you this time.”

Steve didn’t know what to say. “No,” he said. “No, Tasha, I –”

“Shh,” she said softly, and kissed him too.

Nat had chapstick, or at least had bothered to use hers, unlike Bucky; he must have some, he never overlooked the details, the details were his job, were both their jobs: the things everyone else overlooked... Guess I’m a detail, Steve thought, ludicrously. God knew, if this was what he got for it he was delighted with the position. She tasted of coffee, her mouth hot and wet and gentle against his own, the softest sweetest kiss imaginable, until finally he remembered that he had hands to touch her with: he cupped the sweet curves of her hips in his palms and sort of – he tugged her closer, without really having meant to move, but she sighed in delight and took the kiss deeper, fiercer, until Steve was breathing hard and clinging to her, shivering all over, and when she let him go at last Bucky was there to take her place; without quite knowing how it happened Steve was on his back again in the cushions, both of them leaning over him; Natasha’s wet mouth was trailing down his chest, the blanket soft and slippery between their bodies, until she reached his left nipple, and Steve moaned for it in a way he hadn’t known he was capable of, breaking away from Bucky’s hot mouth and panting.

“There you go,” Bucky murmured. “Just you let us… we’ve got you, darling.”

“Let you,” Steve muttered. “Let you what? Oh, Nat – Nat!”

“Let us debauch you in some abandoned Montana hunting cabin,” said Natasha, eyes glittering with amusement, “and then take you home and do it all again in the comfort and privacy of our own home.”

“And _then_?” He might be offering himself up on a platter, but he didn’t dare think – but he couldn’t believe that this meant nothing, either… He had to close his eyes against it, hiding from their faces.

“And then,” said Natasha, mocking him gently, “I think we’ll keep you, Captain, if it’s not too much trouble… and even if it is, I can’t say I’d care much…”

“Is that supposed to scare me _less_?” Steve said, trembling. Relief made him boneless; some warm, sweet, dizzy feeling had a hold of him, something that made him weightless and clear-eyed, so intense he thought he might end up crying. Was this what sheer happiness felt like?

“I’ve yet to meet the thing that could scare you.” Bucky kissed the corner of Steve’s mouth, the tip of his nose, his closed eyelids. Losing you again, Steve didn’t say. Having you both taken away… And then, worse than either: never getting to share this with you at all. “Hmm? Say something, baby.”

“Never call me that again,” said Steve without thinking.

“Baby,” Bucky said at once. “Sugar, sweetheart, baby love, darling, heart’s own, my dearest, my sweet; baby _doll_ …”

Natasha was laughing, light and bright and helpless; Steve put his hand over his face.

“I might have known,” he said ruefully. His face was burning, and there was something hot and twisty in his chest: something that burned and made him breathless. “What does he call you?” tugging gently on a lock of Natasha’s hair.

“Oh, all of the above and more,” she said. “In Russian, usually. He’s very creative about it.” Bucky was laughing silently; Steve could feel his body trembling. Natasha kissed his chin; then his lower lip. “I like it,” she added.

"Favourite?” Steve tipped his hand and cracked an eye open so he could look at her.

Natasha smiled. “Why don’t you work that out for yourself?”

He cupped the back of her head in his hand to draw her close. “Deal.”

“Yeah?” Bucky murmured.

“Yeah.” Steve groped between them until he caught Bucky’s left wrist. “Sorry I –“

Bucky shook his head. “Oh, that’s –“

“What?” said Nat.

“Nothing,” they both said at once, and she dropped her head onto Steve’s chest, laughing softly. For a time they sprawled there in delicious, contented silence. Steve closed his eyes again, sighing. He would wake up in about five more minutes, he thought, cramped and sore in a corner of some SHIELD-issue Quinjet, where Romanov would tease him with that trick she had of being friendly and yet perfectly walled off, and he would pause for a moment on the edge of a jump and long, for a single devastating second, for Bucky to be at his side.

He woke up about five minutes later naked in a puddle of blankets beside a dying fire in a Montana hunting cabin: Natasha, still lying on his chest, was tracing the lines of his face with soft, curious fingers, and Bucky was dozing, it seemed, with his head on Steve’s shoulder.

“Hey,” he whispered to her.

“Hi there.” Oh god, watching her smile was – he’d never seen her look like that. Steve had to close his eyes again; he really would start crying in a minute if he wasn’t careful. He hadn’t cried since Bucky had fallen…

She kissed his chin again.

“You OK?”

“Yeah.” He knew he was hoarse. “Just.” He wanted to grab her soft shoulders and shake her and demand _you mean it, you mean it?_ like an impatient kid offered a new toy; wanted to pull the blankets up over his head and curl up and shut the world out for fear that a dream this sweet would dissolve like spun sugar in the rain as soon as the outside world intruded on it. Maybe they could stay in here forever.

“Easy,” Bucky said quietly: not dozing then. “We’ve got you,” he said again, and – and if Steve couldn’t trust Bucky or Natasha he couldn’t trust anything: he had locked that door behind himself months ago, and thrown away the key. There was no going back.

There was something he should probably tell them, explicitly, in all the old cliché-ridden words he'd never used before, not even to Peggy. He’d just about got his courage together to say them when a god-awful racket went off on the other side of the cabin: the communicators.

+++

Sam didn’t snigger and he didn’t tease. He’d brought dry clothes, and there was food of course, and he checked Steve over quick and methodical.

“You’re all right,” he said. “Don’t ask me how…”

“You shoulda seen him when we dragged him out,” Natasha said. “The cuts and bruises are mostly gone.”

Huh. Steve touched his face absently – not that he’d been paying much attention to his _own_ body, to tell the truth, and minor abrasions did tend to heal quickly, unless he’d taken a serious beating and his healing factor couldn’t keep up.

“I guess.” Sam glanced round the cabin thoughtfully. “Piece of luck, finding this place.”

“The universe owes me a couple thousand,” said Bucky from somewhere inside a sandwich as tall as Steve’s knee. Natasha had already finished hers and was alternating between a slab of Swiss chocolate and a giant bag of potato chips. Steve was going to have to move fast if he wanted some of those himself.

“Hah,” said Sam. “Guys, listen.” He straightened up, looking solemn. “You know how much I hate to be the smug asshole who’s always saying I told you so, but, genuinely, I fucking told you so, OK, you should’ve brought me along –”

Everybody yelled at him; Bucky threw a cushion, and Sam dodged it, cackling, and promptly fell over a chair behind him.

+++

It was nearly dawn by the time they headed out to the Quinjet, and the temperature had dropped since it had stopped snowing, so that the fresh snow had a coat of ice overlaying it. The air was crisp and clean and clear, and here and there the clouds had dispersed, so that you caught glimpses of a spectacular sky of stars above the tree tops. The river was loud in the night-time silence, and the noise of it made Steve shiver a little; it had run through his nightmares, he realised suddenly, the heavy unrelenting rush of water, the way it grasped at you as if it had hands to pull you down with, instead of your own weight doing all the damage.

He paused by the ramp to glance back at the cabin; they had done their best to tidy up, but the blankets would need a wash or three, and the logs they had burnt needed to be replaced. Natasha came back down the ramp to join him; Steve glanced down at her.

She smiled at him. “I’ll find out who it belongs to.”

“Angel.”

Her eyebrows climbed.

He grinned. “Not your favourite, then?”

It was dark, and Natasha’s expressions were minute at the best of times, but Steve had excellent eyesight, and he knew her, by now, inside out, just as she knew him: she was utterly happy. It was beautiful.

“Nice try,” she said after a moment, and put her arm about him. “You’ll get there.”

“Yeah.” After a second Steve turned his head and kissed her temple. “Nat, you know I –”

She poked him in the ribs. “Shh. Save it for at home. Of course I know.”

Steve sighed. “Only, you and me… I’m – terrible at this, and you –”

“I know,” Natasha said. “I’m a little scared too, if that helps… but it’s not exactly rocket science. I figure we did the hardest part already.”

Deciding to trust each other. Yes. Steve kissed her temple again, holding her close; she was shivering a little, and his nose and fingers were beginning to go numb. He turned, pulling her with him, and they went up the ramp together. At the top, Bucky was leaning against the side with his arms crossed over his chest, waiting for them and smiling a smile Steve hadn't seen on his face for a long, long time. Natasha slipped past him, smiling - trading Steve off. He could get used to that, he decided, leaning next to Buck.

"Well?" he murmured. 

Bucky raised his eyebrows. "Not worried about you and me?"

Oh. "No," said Steve. "I figure we'll manage the same way we always have." Sharing food, and finishing each other's sentences sometimes, and probably occasionally a punch-up, when they were both too pissed off for anything else...

Bucky sighed. "You've learned much, young one," he said, "but you are not a Jedi yet."

"It can't be that different," Steve protested. They had been living practically in each other's pockets since they were four, after all.

Bucky started to grin. "Tell you what," he said. "You still feel that way in twenty-four hours, when we've got home and had - some time - the three of us - I'll do the dishes for a month."

Bucky fucking hated doing the dishes. He always had. And there was a promise in those grey eyes that made Steve want to - well - he didn't know, to be honest. But, goddamn.

Nevertheless. "No deal," he said. "We've got a dishwasher, remember?"

 

 

 


End file.
